


air for free

by hoorayy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Matt Holt has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) Needs a Hug, its soft by the end i promise, kinda referenced suicidal thoughts - not a major theme of the story, matt ALSO needs a hug, no archive warnings but mind the tags!, pre-shiro/matt if you want it to be, shiro is an honorary member of the holt family and i will Die On That Hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoorayy/pseuds/hoorayy
Summary: It's been a few months since Matt and Shiro survived a car wreck that left Shiro with one arm and both of them with a truckload of trauma to work through. Maybe more for Matt than either of them realized, because nobody's heard from him in days. Shiro's starting to worry.(written in January 2018)
Relationships: Matt Holt & Shiro, Shiro & the Holt Family
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	air for free

**Author's Note:**

> _Air for free—  
>  And if I sink to the darkest depths  
> Will you be there for me,  
> To hold my hand while I hold my breath? _

_Friday:_

_(7:47 PM) Shiro: hey! see you tomorrow_

_(7:51 PM) Shiro: I’m thinking about maybe a movie tomorrow? if you’re up to it, of course_

_(7:52 PM) Shiro: or if you have any other ideas, just let me know_

_(11:36 PM) Shiro: goodnight! <3_

_Saturday:_

_(10:12 AM) Shiro: you still coming today?_

_(10:19 AM) Shiro: we were supposed to meet at the diner at 10, right? I didn’t get the time or place mixed up?_

_(10:36 AM) Shiro: everything okay over there?_

_(10:43 AM) outgoing phone call to: Nerdlord (Matt Holt)_

_(10:45 AM) Shiro: kind of getting worried… call me please so I know you’re okay?_

_(11:37 AM) outgoing phone call to: Nerdlord (Matt Holt)_

_(12:13 PM) Shiro: I really hope everything’s okay…_

Shiro stands in his own kitchen, taking a moment to catch his breath. He’s spent the last few minutes searching the house for signs of life. Keith was called out early for work, and there’s no indication that Matt has been here. Which means Shiro is the only one home now.

He isn’t supposed to be.

He and Matt meet up every Saturday morning for coffee and then spend most of the day together, but Matt didn’t show up today. He also hasn’t answered any of Shiro’s texts from the day before, or the ones from this morning, or the handful of calls Shiro made to his cell. In fact, Shiro hasn’t heard from him at all since two texts on Thursday morning.

_Thursday:_

_(9:51 AM)_ _Matt: ughhh today’s gonna be a bad day, i can feel it_

_(9:51 AM) Matt: my hair isn’t cooperating, if you need proof beyond my feelings_

_(10:13 AM) Shiro: lol sorry to hear that_

_(10:14 AM) Shiro: hope the day improves for you!_

And after that, radio silence. Exhaling in one long puff, Shiro runs a hand—his human hand—through his hair and leans against the fridge. He’d sent a few texts to Matt on Thursday, after the short conversation— _day getting any better?_ and _gonna pick up something for dinner, I’m taking requests and have an empty spot at my kitchen table_ and finally, _found your old rubik’s cube you lost at my place… it was under the tv cabinet. don’t ask why I had to move that._ None of them have gotten a reply, and Shiro’s starting to get seriously worried.

It isn’t like him to be absent for this long without explanation.

Shiro unlocks his phone and types in a number quickly. Pidge picks up on the second ring.

“Hey Shiro,” she says, her voice chipper. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Shiro says, trying to keep his anxiety out of his voice. “You home, by any chance?”

“No, I’m out picking stuff up for a new project,” Pidge answers. “I’ll be home in an hour or so. Why?”

“I was just wondering if your brother was at your house,” Shiro says. “Or if you’ve heard from him at all today.”

“Matt?” Pidge sounds confused at first, then concerned. “No, I haven’t heard from him since…” Her voice goes a little distant, like she’s pulled her phone away from her ear to check her messages. “…Tuesday. I texted him Thursday, but he didn’t respond.”

Shiro swears softly. Part of him had vaguely wondered if Matt was angry at him or something—even though he knows if Matt was upset, he’d just say it outright, not ignore him for three days and skip their Saturday meet up—but now that Pidge hasn’t heard from him either, it’s clear there’s something else going on.

“Didn’t he show up today?”

“No,” Shiro says. “I haven’t heard from him since Thursday either, and he’s not even answering his phone when I call him.”

Pidge echoes Shiro’s earlier swear. Distantly, Shiro hears her start talking about Matt’s neighbors across the hall, something about texting one of them and finding out if they’ve seen him since Thursday, but that’s all he really picks up.

Blood rushes through his ears, a roar that drowns out Pidge’s words. He knows he needs to stay calm, that he’s probably overreacting, that his anxiety is bringing up every possible worst case scenario, but he can’t stop worrying.

“I mean, he’s a Holt,” Pidge is saying. “Maybe he just got obsessed with some project and forgot what day it was.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Shiro agrees weakly. “I’ll call your mom, and then drive over to his place.”

“I’ll text Hunk and Lance and find out if he’s been out and about,” Pidge says. “Keep me updated?”

“Will do,” Shiro promises.

“Thanks. And hey, Shiro? You okay?”

Shiro makes a _hmm_ sound, then manages to get out, “I’ll be fine.”

“Honestly, he probably did just forget what day it was,” Pidge says gently. “Definitely go check on him and get some food and water down his throat, but I’m pretty sure he’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, and he half-believes her too. “You’re probably right. I’ll text or call you later and let you know when I find him.”

“Thanks, Shiro. Talk to you later.”

“Yep,” Shiro says, and he’s barely hung up before he’s dialing the Holt’s home number. His prosthetic, advanced as it is, is cumbersome enough to type with. Combined with the shakiness of his fingers, it takes him a few tries to get the number in correctly. Somehow, he manages to get through without dropping his phone. It rings three times, and then halfway through the fourth, Colleen picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hi Dr. Holt, it’s Shiro.” He twists his bangs around his fingers, nervously tugging at them.

“Hi Shiro, call me Colleen,” she says, sounding as pleasant and cheerful as she always does, and tacking on her customary reminder for him to use her first name, which he never does. He’ll probably slip up and call her Mom before he calls her Colleen. “How are you doing?”

“I’m—” He can’t get himself to lie, but he doesn’t know how to say ‘ _I’m anxious and on the verge of panicking because my best friend, who is depressed and potentially suicidal, hasn’t been in contact with any of his friends or family in at least two days’_ in a socially acceptable way. Especially when that best friend happens to be her son. “I don’t know yet. Have you heard from Matt today? Or yesterday?” Or Thursday? Or any point more recently than himself or Pidge?

“I can’t say that I have,” Colleen says, and Shiro’s stomach drops. “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe,” Shiro says. “Nobody’s heard from him since Thursday, and he was supposed to meet me for coffee this morning, but he never showed up, and he hasn’t been answering my texts or calls. Pidge says she thinks he just got caught up in some project and forgot what day it was, but I’m worried that… that he… that something bad might have happened, and I…”

“Okay, Shiro, breathe,” Colleen instructs. He realized suddenly that he’d said all of that with one breath, and now he feels dizzy. He sags further against the fridge, knocking a handful of magnets onto the floor, and forces himself to take a few deep breaths.

“That’s better, thank you,” Colleen says gently. “Pidge might be right, but I can understand your concern too. Do you want me to call Sam?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “I’m about to drive over to Matt’s apartment right now.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Are you okay to drive?”

“I’m fine,” Shiro says, and he tries not to think about losing control behind the wheel. Not again. “I’ll drive safe, promise.”

“As long as you’re sure. Keep me updated when you get there? And please, make sure you’re breathing okay while you’re driving. I don’t need to worry about both of my boys.”

“Of course,” Shiro says. It isn’t the first time she’d called him that—one of her boys—but he still feels a bit of warmth blossoming in his chest because of it. Even though at the

same time the guilt whispers that it doesn’t belong there. “Thanks, Dr. Holt.”

“Don’t thank me, love. Go find Matt. And call me Colleen.”

“I’ll find him. No promises on the other thing.”

She snorts. “Bye, Shiro.”

He hangs up and snags his keys off of the counter, where he’d dropped them just fifteen minutes earlier. He doesn’t even bother locking the door to the house; Keith will be back soon enough anyway. Right now, his priority is getting to Matt.

Matt’s apartment is a forty minute drive from Shiro’s and Keith’s house, and over an hour from the Holt family residence. The drive there is the second worst that Shiro’s ever taken. When he pulls into the parking lot in front of the apartment building, his knuckles are white and he could almost swear that the stripe of the same color in his hair has doubled in size.

He takes the stairs up to Matt’s floor two at a time. A potted spider plant, which Matt dubbed Peter, droops by his door. It hasn’t been watered in at least a week, Shiro guesses. The sight of the familiar surroundings—cracked and peeling paint, the faded _218_ nailed to Matt’s door, the orangeish doormat under his feet—serves to soothe his anxiety a bit, but he still worries about what he’s going to find inside the apartment. If Matt is even here at all.

Usually, Matt’s always making some kind of noise inside his apartment. Music blaring, metal hammering, or something falling over and breaking in general are all common soundtrack here at the residence of Matthew Holt. But today, as Shiro raises his hand to knock on Matt’s door, the sound echoes in the emptiness of the hallway.

Complete silence comes from inside the apartment. Shiro waits a few seconds, and then knocks again.

“Matt? It’s Shiro. Are you home?”

He jiggles the doorknob. It’s locked, but he has a spare key on the ring with all of his other keys. He hesitates for just a moment longer before knocking one last time.

This time, he swears he hears a noise inside. A soft _clunk_ , and then a rustle of paper.

“Matt?”

There’s no denying the faint _“Come in”_ that follows. Shiro flips to the right key and unlocks the door, then pushes it open.

All of the lights inside are turned off. The kitchen table is cluttered with dirty dishes, a nearly-empty pizza box, and loose sheets of notebook paper. Some of the garbage has overflowed to the floor, and a mountain of more dishes fills the half-sink. Shiro’s heart clenches as he picks his way through the mess to the doorway across the kitchen. He should’ve come by sooner.

Matt’s on the couch in the living room, buried under at least two blankets and more of the loose notebook paper. All Shiro can really see is the top of his blonde head and one hand hanging limp over the side of the couch, his fingers brushing against the dirty carpet.

“Hey,” Shiro says, kneeling down and pushing a half-eaten bag of potato chips out of the way to make a spot for himself on the floor by Matt’s head. “What’s up? You haven’t been answering anybody’s texts for days.”

“Huh.” Matt looks dazed, barely meeting Shiro’s eyes and staring listlessly somewhere across the room. His glasses are folded up on the arm of the couch, a few inches from Matt’s head. It’s a wonder he hasn’t knocked them onto the floor yet. After a second, he raises his hand and points at a spot on the floor a few feet away. “My phone’s dead.”

“We have a fix for that,” Shiro says, getting to his feet. He digs around a bit in the area Matt pointed out, having to move aside more trash and notebook paper, including some pieces that had been shredded to confetti, before he locates Matt’s phone. “It’s this cool new invention called a charger.”

“Couldn’t find mine,” Matt says, his voice sounding dead.

Shiro frowns. “Did you look for it?”

Matt doesn’t answer. Shiro steps back into the kitchen, finds Matt’s charger on the counter, and plugs his phone in. He picks his way back into the disaster zone of a living room, settling back down in his earlier spot.

Dark, bruised circles ring Matt’s eyes. His eyelids look puffy and red, and a combination of sweat and tear tracks stain his cheeks. Tufts of his hair stick up in odd directions, tangled and greasy. His already pale, freckled face has a grayish tint to it, and despite the amount of food lying around, everything about him has a thin, malnourished look.

“Matt,” Shiro says gently, “how long have you been lying here?”

He doesn’t answer at first, then slowly shrugs his shoulders. “What day is it?”

“Saturday,” Shiro answers. “Saturday afternoon.”

“Oh,” Matt says, and then again, “ _Oh,_ Saturday, I forgot. Crap, I forgot, I’m so sorry, Shiro—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shiro says. “I can tell you’re feeling pretty bad. I don’t blame you for forgetting.”

Matt’s eyes are stormy, a little unfocused, a lot sad. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“No?” Shiro leaves it at a single word, a question hanging in the air for Matt to clarify.

“No,” he echoes. “I thought I was just tired at first, but then I slept for awhile and still felt tired, so I thought maybe I was sick, but nothing’s actually felt bad since then, except for being tired.”

Shiro slips his fingers—his real flesh-and-blood ones—around Matt’s, holding his hand. It’s clammy, but doesn’t feel feverish. When he touches the back of his hand to Matt’s forehead, he comes to the same conclusion. No fever.

“You still look pretty crummy,” Shiro says. “And you didn’t answer my question. How long have you been here?”

“Mm.” Matt scrubs his hand over his eyes. “Thursday, I think. Got up a couple times for a drink or the bathroom, but that’s it.”

“Buddy,” Shiro says, sounding as concerned as he felt. “That’s not good.”

“I know,” Matt mumbles. “I didn’t realize it was Saturday.”

“I can tell.” Shiro leans against the couch, reaching up to gently finger comb Matt’s hair. “How are you feeling right now? Just tired?”

He hesitates before answering. “Really tired. And kinda… I don’t know. Numb?”

“Hmm,” Shiro hums. “Depressed?”

Matt stiffens under his touch, then burrows deeper under his blankets, hiding his face. Shiro freezes, his fingers in the air where Matt’s head had been.

“Matt?”

At first, there’s no answer. Then, Shiro realizes that Matt’s shoulders are shaking under the blankets.

“Oh, Matt.” He gets to his feet, squeezes his way onto the couch next to his best friend. Matt stays curled up in his tight, tiny ball, but he lets Shiro pry himself in so that his head is now propped up on Shiro’s leg. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt hiccups. “You’re right. It’s—I’m—I thought I could do— _hic_ —this on my own, but I— _hic_ —can’t and I can’t even stay on top of my home— _hic_ —work without panicking and ending up on the couch for three— _hic_ —freaking— _hic_ —days because my brain’s too screwed— _hic_ —up.”

Shiro’s heart squeezes in guilt, and in sympathy too. He knows what Matt’s feeling, to some extent. And it’s his own fault in both cases. He reaches down and puts his arms around Matt, gently levering him up from the couch cushions. “Come here.”

The blankets fall back, revealing a thin, shaking Matt, dressed in wrinkled and stained pajamas that Shiro wonders if he might have been wearing since Wednesday night. Matt sits up, then collapses against Shiro. Fresh tears stain his face, and his shoulders continue to tremble as Shiro hugs him.

“I’m so sorry, Matt,” Shiro says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his tangled hair.

“S’not your fault.” He mumbles it into Shiro’s shirt, tears darkening the fabric, and Shiro has to stop himself before saying _yes, yes it is_. “I’m sorry for forgetting about today. And worrying everyone because I stopped answering texts.”

“We were just worried for you,” Shiro says. “We were scared something was really wrong.” Which it… kind of is. It kind of really is. Shiro threads his fingers through Matt’s greasy, tangled hair. He wishes he’d checked on him sooner. He should’ve noticed something was off earlier; if he’d just come by on Thursday when he stopped responding to texts…

Matt wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist, sinking farther into the hug and distracting Shiro from his downward spiral of thoughts. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. He doesn’t let himself go back to his train of thought. His focus right now needs to be on helping Matt, not blaming himself. “Don’t go to sleep, though.”

Matt, whose eyes are already slipping shut as he gets comfortable, grumbles under his breath. “M’tired, ‘Kashi.”

“Yeah, you’re also dehydrated and borderline starving,” Shiro says. “And you need a shower.”

“Want a nap, though.” Matt’s voice sounds as foggy as if he’s just woken up from a ten-year-sleep. Or as if he’s due for one.

Shiro sits back, dislodging Matt from the hug, who complains in grumbled noises. “Shower, lunch, and then a nap in the car. That’s today’s agenda, okay?”

“Why the car?” Matt stiffens slightly.

“I’m driving you to your parents’ house,” Shiro explains, trying not to think too much about the way Matt freezes up at that. “Come on, up you come. Get a shower and I’ll pack your things and make lunch.”

Matt complains only minimally as Shiro half-supports, half-drags him to the bathroom. He seems marginally more alert by the time they get there, and Shiro is confident enough that he’s actually going to get in the shower and not curl up on the floor to sleep. He’s rewarded with the sound of the water running a few minutes later as he works on tidying up the kitchen.

The apartment is far too big of a mess to clean entirely before Matt gets out of the shower, so Shiro just focuses on gathering up and throwing out all of the trash on the floor and table. Once enough is cleared away to reveal that, lo and behold, Matt does indeed have a kitchen underneath everything after all, he searches the pantry for any food that’s still edible and comes out with a box of mac’n’cheese. He sets a pot of water to boil, and then pulls out his cell phone.

_(12:54 PM) Pidge: any update on our missing person case?_

_(12:55 PM) Pidge: texted hunk and lance… they haven’t seen him for a few days, and they’re not home otherwise they’d check on him_

_(12:56 PM) Pidge: i’m assuming you’re already there though_

_(1:17 PM) Shiro: found him in his apartment. he’s doing pretty crummy, so I’m bringing him back to your parents as soon as I get some food in him_

_(1:18 PM) Shiro: think he might’ve had a panic attack that sent him into a depressive episode… he’s not really talking about it, but that’s my educated guess_

_(1:19 PM) Pidge: oh no, poor guy… thank you for finding him/feeding him_

_(1:19 PM) Pidge: give him a hug for me if he’s touch-okay, please?_

_(1:20 PM) Shiro: will do_

Shiro dials the Holt’s number as he heads back to Matt’s bedroom, which is significantly less of a disaster than the rest of the apartment. Colleen picks up after the second ring.

“Hi, Shiro?”

“Hi Dr. Holt,” he answers, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he digs through Matt’s dresser in search of a clean pair of pajamas. “I found him.”

“Oh, thank God.” She lets out a relieved breath, and as she does, Shiro finds himself following after her example. The stress he’s carried on his shoulders ever since Matt didn’t show up this morning starts to dissipate. “Is he okay?”

“He’s alive and he says he’s not sick,” Shiro says. “I don’t think he’s moved from his couch since Thursday, though. He seems really out of it, so I’m going to bring him to you guys, just in case.”

“Good idea. When I called Sam earlier, he said he could leave work early if need be, so he could come home early to help if you think he should.”

“That’s probably not necessary,” Shiro says, and then he pauses, Matt’s backpack in hand. He doesn’t think Matt needs anything that Shiro and Colleen can’t provide, but then again, what does he know? This whole PTSD thing is still painfully new to him. Maybe this is a problem with Matt’s meds? What if he needs to go to the hospital? What if something else is wrong that Shiro’s missing entirely? Shiro’s suddenly on the verge of panic all over again, his hands shaking so hard he almost drops all of the clothing he’s collected for Matt.

“…Shiro? Everything okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Shiro stammers. “I’m—I just don’t—really know, what exactly Matt needs right now, so I don’t know if—if Professor Holt should come home, or—”

“Take a breath, Shiro,” Colleen says soothingly. He forces himself to follow her advice, forces his lungs to fill and exhale.

“Sorry,” he mumbles once he has his shaking hands under control.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “I’ll tell Sam that you found Matt and to stay on standby for coming home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro echoes.

“Good,” Colleen says. “Call me back if either of you need anything, all right?”

“Got it,” Shiro says, and then, “Thanks, Dr. Holt.”

“No problem, Shiro. And thank you.”

He wants to tell her not to thank him; not for waiting two days to check on Matt and letting him spiral this far into his depression alone; not for letting him live by himself and not trying harder to convince Matt to stay with Shiro and Keith for awhile, just until they were sure everything was okay; not for being the reason her son is traumatized and depressed and suffering from freaking PTSD when just a few months ago he’d been perfectly healthy. That’s what she has to thank Shiro for.

Somehow, he manages to croak out a “See you later,” and she echoes it back as Shiro hangs up. He slides to the floor, his hands shaking badly.

His fault. All of this. He’d caused them, all of the panic attacks, all of the depression—they happened to both of them, because of him.

Numbly, he remembers the pot of boiling water downstairs. That’s what gets him off of the floor. He stumbles to his feet, backpack in one hand and a change of clothes for Matt in the other, and heads back into the kitchen.

The pot boiled over, so Shiro spends the next few seconds turning the stove down and cleaning up the mess. He adds the noodles after that, setting a timer on the microwave so he won’t forget about them again. His cooking success rate is slightly higher with macaroni and cheese than anything else, but that doesn’t mean it turns out every time.

The shower is still going in the bathroom. Shiro snags Matt’s glasses from the couch, then raps against the bathroom door and tentatively pushes it open. Matt had left the door unlocked, most likely because he just hadn’t had the awareness or energy to lock it, but it makes Shiro feel a little better all the same. He knows where his mind tends to go during particularly bad days of his own.

“Brought you some clothes,” Shiro calls over the running water. He sets a spare change of clothes on the sink, glasses on top. “Food will be ready in a few minutes, but take your time.”

“Okay,” Matt says from the other side of the shower curtain, and that’s all. No jokes or remarks about Shiro walking in on him, like he would’ve expected on a normal day. Shiro backs out of the bathroom again, closing the door but not locking it behind him.

Back in the kitchen, he finishes the mac’n’cheese and tidies up a little more, washing a few dishes so they have something to eat off of and clearing a spot on the kitchen table so they have somewhere to sit. By the time he hears the shower shut off, the food is ready and he’s seated at the table texting Pidge some more. Anything to get his mind off of blaming himself for all of this.

Matt stumbles out a few minutes later, his hair dripping wet and a towel thrown loosely over his shoulders, dressed in the t-shirt and sweatpants Shiro had left him. Shiro smiles at him.

“Feeling any better?”

“Hmm,” Matt says, and then slumps into a chair. He sets his forehead down on the table. “Ready for that nap now.”

“Just one more item of business left before we get there,” Shiro promises, filling a bowl with the slightly-lumpy macaroni. After setting it in front of Matt, he gets himself a bowl too. It took him this long to realize that he never did eat breakfast this morning, and a gnaw of hunger finally makes itself known in his stomach.

“That’s a lot,” Matt says, regarding his bowl grimly.

“Just eat what you can,” Shiro says. He hadn’t given him much.

Turns out, Matt could only eat three bites. He spends the rest of the time that Shiro’s eating pushing the noodles around with his fork. After Shiro clears the dishes from the table, Matt looks up at him.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be able to drive us back to my parents?”

A prick of something cold and sharp pierces his chest. Shiro stares back at him, trying to form a response, and almost immediately, Matt’s expression changes.

“Wait, crap, I didn’t mean it like that. Shiro—” His eyes widen slightly and he sets his hands on the table, palms raised. “I trust your driving, I swear. I just mean, you’re shaking like crazy, and I know you’re worried about me right now, but I’m kind of worried about you too.”

Shiro looks down at his hands. He’s still shaking from the phone call with Colleen. _Crap._

“I just don’t want it to trigger… don’t want you to…”

Matt doesn’t finish, but Shiro knows what he was going to say. “I’ll be fine,” he says, but it’s a lie and they both know it. Right now, the accident is so fresh in his mind, and his anxiety is wound so tightly, that Shiro feels like he might break from the stress of it all.

He’s saved from having to make a better decision by a knock on the door. Shiro’s chair squeaks on the floor as he stands up. He makes his way across the kitchen, unlocks the door, and pushes it open.

In the hallway stand two people, both probably around Keith’s age. The one in front, thin and tall with short brown hair, raises a hand in something of a wave.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Lance, and this is Hunk. We live right across the hall here.”

“Pidge texted us earlier,” Hunk adds, almost before Lance has finished speaking. “She wanted us to check in on Matt? We were both out, but we just got back, so we figured we’d stop by and see how he’s doing.”

“Oh,” Shiro says, and then remembers to introduce himself. “I’m Shiro. Matt’s inside, and I already texted Pidge. Thanks for coming by—”

A rustling sound over his shoulder interrupts him. Shiro glances back and sees Matt, kicking a box of something out of his way—Shiro winces as something breaks inside of it—and then he comes to a stop beside Shiro. He rests his hand on Shiro’s prosthetic, catching his balance.

“Hey man,” Lance says.

“How are you feeling?” Hunk asks.

“Hey.” Matt raises one shoulder in a shrug. “Been better. But I’m good.”

It’s pretty obvious that he’s not good, but Shiro doesn’t say anything. He’s not exactly doing great at the moment himself. He can recognize that much. He still feels shaky and distant, as if he can’t quite ground himself. It’s not as bad as some other times, but it’s still very disconcerting.

“If there’s anything we can do, just let us know,” Hunk is saying. “We’re home the rest of the day, no plans, so meals, errands, whatever—we’re here to help.”

Matt is looking at Shiro. There’s something pointed in his gaze, and Shiro knows what he’s getting at.

“Actually,” Shiro says, a little reluctantly. “Can you guys drive?”

By the time they reach the Holt’s house, Matt is asleep in the back of Lance’s car. His head is in Shiro’s lap, one of the blankets from his couch pulled over his shoulders. Shiro’s reluctant to wake him, but they’ve already imposed on Lance and Hunk’s time enough.

“Hey buddy,” Shiro says, gently shaking his shoulder. “We’re home.”

Matt grumbles something and pulls his blanket over his head. Lance chuckles from the front seat.

Outside, the front door of the house swings open and Colleen steps out onto the porch. Shiro manages to get Matt out of the car, half-dragging, half-coaxing, until he stands swaying in the driveway. He leans heavily on Shiro’s shoulder, still wrapped in his blanket.

“Hi Matty,” Colleen says, taking Shiro’s place beside him. Shiro immediately relinquishes his position. Matt sags into his mother, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her.

“Hey mom,” Matt says, his words muffled into her shoulder. Shiro turns away. He doesn’t want to bother them right now.

The world around him fades into something of a blur, into background noise that he tunes out without sparing it a second thought. Dimly, he’s aware of himself moving on autopilot: carrying Matt’s backpack and a Ziploc bag of his meds, thanking Lance for the ride, promising to call him if there’s anything else he can do, following Colleen and Matt into the house, hearing the noises of the Holt home from somewhere far away. Pidge’s footsteps on the stairs. Chairs squeaking on the kitchen floor. The _click-click-click_ of Bae-Bae’s claws as she comes to investigate. The _thump-thump-thump_ of her tail as she greets Matt.

Shiro sets the Ziploc bag on the counter. He sets the backpack on a chair. They’re fussing over Matt, coaxing him into the living room to sit on the couch. He hears the _rattle-click_ of Bae-Bae’s collar as she jumps up next to him. Pidge’s footsteps on the stairs again, going up, silence, and coming back down. The couch creaks. Bae-Bae whines. Colleen murmurs softly, her words indistinct to Shiro’s murky ears. Something soft rubs against Shiro’s ankles. He bends down, pets Rover’s fluffy head.

For a moment, everything seems so silent that his ears ring. He feels a deep purr beneath his hand, rumbling through Rover’s tiny body, crackling in his ears, and then he hears his breathing, loud and disconcerting. His hands shake and Rover pulls his head back, sniffing Shiro’s prosthetic fingers.

Everything comes back into focus with a crash.

He’s suddenly aware of all of it again, aware that he is crouched on the Holt’s kitchen floor, Pidge’s cat sniffing his fingers, Matt’s muffled sobs from the other side of the wall, shreds of panic squeezing his chest. His balance shifts and he slides forward, startling Rover away, catching himself on his hands and knees.

Not now. Please, not now, he can’t do this here—he can’t have a panic attack on the Holt’s kitchen floor while Matt cries in the next room, he needs to hold it together, just until he gets home. Once he gets home, then he can break, he just has to drive home—

His car is still at Matt’s apartment. He can’t drive home. Keith is at work, he can’t ask Colleen to take him home now, not while Matt needs her so much—needs her because of him, because of one night and one moment he took his eyes off of the road, and now they’re both like this, now Matt is—

_Matt is slumped against the back of his seat, his eyes barely open, his face streaked with a mixture of blood and water. Shiro can hardly see, can hardly breathe, can’t move at all. His arm is twisted and crushed and crimson soaks everything he can see, but that isn’t the worst of it. They’re going to die, because there’s no way out of this, they’re going to drown in the water-and-blood and this is all his fault and he can’t save them from this and he can’t breathe…_

“Shiro, can you hear me?”

_…all his fault, and they’re going to die, and he can’t breathe, he feels the water rush into his mouth and his nose and it stings his eyes and there’s no escape, he’s going to die—_ except he hears Colleen; he has to—he has to focus, he has to get himself out of this—

“Everything’s okay, Shiro. You’re at our house, in our kitchen. Matt’s in the living room with Pidge and Bae-Bae, and Rover’s here next to me. Sam is on his way home from work, and I think he’s bringing takeout for dinner…”

He struggles to stay grounded, to listen to Colleen’s voice and not the memories, the ones that try to drag him down with them and drown him in the depths of his own mind. He breathes heavy and ragged, and he feels tears dripping from his nose and chin.

“…can call Keith to see if he wants to come over for dinner too, and then he can take you home afterwards, unless you’d like to stay here for the night, which you are welcome to do whenever you want, okay? You always have a home here with us.”

She pauses for a moment, and Shiro shakily raises his head to look at her. She’s kneeling on the floor just in front of him, her eyes deep and gentle and worried. He feels like he should say something now, so he opens his mouth and then freezes up.

“I—I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and then bursts into tears all over again. He’s shaking so badly he can barely support himself on his hands and knees, and every time he looks at Colleen, the concern in her eyes makes him feel worse. He hates that she cares about him, that he wants her to care about him, because he doesn’t deserve it. Not after everything he’s done to her family. Even now, he’s taking her away from them, distracting her from Matt—

“Is it okay if I hug you?” Colleen’s voice is soft as she hesitantly reaches out one hand. It takes him a moment to process the question, to put together a response, for the part of him that says _no no no_ to lose to the part of him that says _please,_ and manage a weak nod. The nod is enough for Colleen. She cups her hand gently around the back of Shiro’s head, guiding his forehead to her shoulder as her other hand loops around his back.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force back the tears. Trying to regulate his breathing. Trying to calm down, calm down, _calm down and stop this_.

Colleen cards her fingers through his hair, quietly murmuring gentle reassurances, a steady stream of “It’s okay. It’s all right. You’re safe. Matt’s safe. You’re both okay. It’s okay.”

He wants to get up, to say something, to do _anything_ other than kneel here on the floor, feeling vulnerable and small, but he’s so, so tired, and he can’t even manage to lift his head. Maybe this is how Matt felt; so tired that he couldn’t even get off the couch. Like maybe he’d never really get the energy back again.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, collapsed on the kitchen floor, but he knows it’s long enough for the tears to stop falling and his breathing to slowly, slowly even itself out. He’s still shaking, and Colleen is rubbing slow, gentle circles into his back.

Just as he’s thinking that he needs to get up before he falls asleep on Colleen’s shoulder, the door leading outside opens. A draft of fresh air hits him from behind and he shivers, curling into Colleen without quite meaning to.

“Hi honey,” Colleen says without pausing from running her fingers through Shiro’s hair. He hears the jingle of keys dropping on a counter and the rustle of a paper sack being set down on the table.

“Hi, dear.” Sam’s footsteps stop just behind Shiro, and he feels Colleen shift to incline her head upwards to kiss her husband. “I thought it was our other son who was having the rough day.”

Shiro realizes he’s not invisible and turns his head slightly, catching sight of his old college professor, who smiles down at him, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Hi, Professor Holt.”

“Hi, Shiro.” He sets a hand gently on Shiro’s head. “You can call me Sam, you know. We’re not in the classroom anymore.”

“I know,” Shiro says. Old habits die hard.

“Matt’s in the living room with Katie,” Colleen says. “I think he might be asleep, though.”

“I’ll check on him.” Sam’s footsteps fade away into the next room. Faint murmurs of conversation float back, and Shiro hears Matt’s voice, so apparently he wasn’t asleep after all.

Colleen presses a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head. “Ready to get up yet?”

Shiro gives himself a moment before he answers, and even then he still sounds reluctant. “Yeah.”

“Let’s just get you into the living room,” Colleen says. “You can sit with Matt on the couch, okay?”

Shiro nods as he sits back, letting Colleen get to her feet. He feels unsteady with the sudden lack of support, in addition to the general sense of exhaustion that came after a panic attack and a long cry. A long cry that Colleen’s damp sleeve bears evidence to.

Shiro manages to stand on his own, although he readily takes Colleen’s hand when she offers it to him. He doesn’t know whether it’s more for physical support or the emotional kind, but it helps, and now he’s too tired to really fight it. Colleen guides him into the living room, where Matt and Pidge are already seated on the couch. Pidge pops to her feet, blanket sliding to the floor, and offers her spot to Shiro.

Shiro starts to protest, but Colleen gently presses him down into the empty seat. Matt lists to the side, half curled around the arm of the couch, but when Shiro settles in beside him, he glances over.

“Now you look like crap too,” Matt observes.

“Thanks,” Shiro says. Matt shifts, leaning against Shiro’s side and pulling his blanket with him. Shiro wraps an arm around him, resting the side of his face atop Matt’s head. Colleen layers a second blanket over Matt, tucking it around Shiro too.

“Anything I can get for you boys?” she asks after leaning down to kiss Matt’s forehead.

Matt shakes his head, burrowing himself further into the blankets and couch cushions.

“Thanks, Dr. Holt,” Shiro says. She smiles at him, gently ruffling his hair.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, and Sam is in his office if you need him,” Colleen says, speaking more to Shiro than to Matt, who is hiding his face against Shiro’s shoulder and zoning out of the conversation. She turns and heads back out to the kitchen, and Shiro turns to Matt.

Matt’s eyes are closed, half-hidden by his hair. The blanket is pulled up to his chin, and his breathing is slow and regular. He face still looks ashy and pale, and tears tracks stain his cheeks below the dark circles under his eyes, but he doesn’t look quite as… as _lifeless_ as he had when Shiro found him.

Shiro watches him in silence for a moment, listening to his rhythmic breathing and feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest under the blanket, pressed up against Shiro’s side. He’s glad that Matt’s back home now, with someone to look after him. He worries too much when Matt is alone, where Shiro can’t just check on him every time he doesn’t respond to a text. Even though he should.

“Don’t say it,” Matt mumbles, without opening his eyes.

“What?”

“You did that breath-holding thing you always do right before you apologize for something that isn’t your fault.” Matt cracks open one eye. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Shiro protests, at the same time wondering if he really did hold his breath before apologizing.

“Good, then.” Matt closes his eyes again. “I’m taking another nap now.”

“You’ve earned it,” Shiro tells him. Matt snorts, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t say anything else. His breathing slows down even more, and gradually Shiro’s own breathing starts to match it. Rover hops up on the back of the couch, curling up behind Shiro’s head. The sounds of Colleen in the kitchen, Rover’s purring, and the occasional click of Bae-Bae walking around fades into the background.

Shiro’s not quite asleep when he realizes that Pidge is standing in front of him. He blinks, once, twice, then rubs his eyes.

“Hey,” Pidge says, holding out one hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but Keith’s blowing up your phone. You left it in the kitchen.”

Shiro grunts, then takes his phone from her. The lock screen is covered in text notifications from Keith and one from Lance, who he’d given his number to earlier.

_(2:04 PM) Keith: hey just got home, you still out with matt?_

_(3:38 PM) Keith: also we’re out of milk_

_(4:05 PM) Lance: hey it’s Lance :) just got back to the apartment, Hunk says to let you know that if you guys need anything else, just let us know!_

_(4:12 PM) Keith: just got a text from lance, didn’t know you knew him?? he said he drove you and matt to the holt’s but he didn’t know you were like, my shiro and he forgot to ask_

_(4:12 PM) Keith: are you coming home soon?_

_(5:05 PM) missed call from: Keith_

_(5:17 PM) Keith: I know you’re alive but only because pidge texted me_

_(5:29 PM) Shiro: hey sorry, everything’s okay, at the Holt’s with Matt now_

_(5:30 PM) Keith: is Matt okay??_

_(5:31 PM) Shiro: yeah he’s okay, better now that he’s home_

_(5:32 PM) Shiro: he’s currently asleep on my shoulder or he’d probably say hi_

_(5:32 PM) Keith: that’s good, are YOU okay??_

_(5:33 PM) Shiro: I’m okay, also doing better now that we’re at the holts_

_(5:34 PM) Shiro: and that I didn’t have to drive_

_(5:34 PM) Shiro: I’m gonna have to thank Lance again for that_

_(5:35 PM) Keith: I still can’t believe you know him_

_(5:36 PM) Shiro: he’s Matt’s neighbor, I don’t really know him… how do you even know him?_

_(5:37 PM) Keith: we had a few classes together last year and kept in touch_

_(5:38 PM) Shiro: oh that makes sense_

_(5:39 PM) Shiro: do you want to come over for dinner? mama holt says you’re invited_

_(5:39 PM) Keith: sure but I have to bring my bike, car’s in the shop until tomorrow_

_(5:40 PM) Shiro: oh I forgot about that… my car’s still at matt’s apartment_

_(5:41 PM) Keith: we can get it tomorrow_

_(5:42 PM) Shiro: can you bring clothes for me? I’ll just spend the night here so dr. holt doesn’t have to drive me home_

_(5:43 PM) Keith: got it_

_(5:43 PM) Keith: see you in a bit_

_(5:44 PM) Shiro: see you!_

Matt’s still asleep against Shiro, but Shiro’s awake now. He texts Colleen, not wanting to wake Matt by moving or by shouting.

_(5:46 PM) Shiro: Keith’s coming over for dinner :)_

He hears the buzz of Colleen’s phone in the kitchen, and then a few moments later, he gets a response.

_(5:47 PM) Colleen: Sounds good! We’ll eat at 6:30, or whenever you two sleepyheads are hungry_

_(5:48 PM) Shiro: haha, well I for one will be ready at 6:30 sharp_

_(5:49 PM) Shiro: no promises for Matt though, he’s still out cold_

_(5:50 PM) Shiro: dinner’s at 6:30_

_(5:50 PM) Keith: -thumbs up-_

Shiro hesitates, looking down at his phone. He knows that if they’ve said it once, the Holts have told him a hundred times that he’s always welcome to spend the night at their place. He’d even taken them up on it before. Especially right after the accident, when Keith hadn’t moved in and Matt hadn’t moved out, and the empty halls in his own house had been too much for him. But it had been awhile, and Matt had gotten his own apartment when the school year started, and Keith moved out of his apartment and into Shiro’s house. He hasn’t had to ask in months. And he’s kind of glad it’s over text; for some reason, typing seems easier than talking.

_(5:52 PM) Shiro: hey, um… one other question_

_(5:52 PM) Colleen: Sure, what’s up?_

_(5:54 PM) Shiro: is it okay if I spend the night?_

Instead of responding, Colleen pops her head around the doorway between the living room and kitchen. She gives Shiro a look, mock-scolding and gentle.

“Yes,” she says. “You know it’s always okay.”

Shiro gives her a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Dr. Holt.”

“Yay sleepover,” Matt mumbles into Shiro’s shoulder, making Shiro jump. He fixes Matt with a scolding look, but his eyes are closed.

“You were reading my texts,” Shiro accuses.

Matt shrugs innocently. “Tell Keith I do say hi.”

“Tell him yourself when he gets here,” Shiro tells him. “He’s probably driving now.”

“Okay,” Matt says. Colleen’s beside the couch now, leaning down to press the back of her hand to Matt’s forehead. He wrinkles his nose. “I’m not that kind of sick, Mom.”

“Just making sure,” she chides him. “You looked a little warm.”

“It’s because of these blankets.” Matt pushes at the top layer of blankets. “And Shiro’s, like, the ultimate space heater. I’m just cozy, not feverish.”

He’s talking more, Shiro observes happily. He hasn’t actually laughed yet, or even smiled, but he sort of teased Shiro, and now is playfully arguing with his mother. All good signs.

When Colleen leaves for the kitchen again, Matt flops back against Shiro.

“You doing okay, man?”

Shiro raises one eyebrow. “Last I checked, you were the one we’re all concerned about.”

Matt flaps his hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll be… I’ll be good.”

“Right,” Shiro says. Matt puffs out his breath.

“Seriously, Shiro. You had a panic attack earlier, didn’t you?”

Shiro hesitates. Matt twists his head, looking up into Shiro’s eyes, and he can’t hide it from him.

“I… Yeah, I did. On your mom’s kitchen floor.” Shiro gives a dry, bitter laugh. “One minute, I’m just petting Rover and everything’s fine, and then…” He lets out all his breath and drops his hands into his lap.

“Relatable,” Matt says, and then mimics Shiro sighing heavily and flopping his hands onto his legs. “I feel that. On a very deep level.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “I can’t even tell whether you’re making fun of me or if you’re serious.”

“Honestly?” Matt sinks further against Shiro, his eyes starting to close again. “Neither can I.”

Shiro runs his fingers through Matt’s hair, feeling his friend relax more and more. He must be really tired, if he’s already starting to fall asleep again.

With great effort, Matt forces his eyes open again. “But not joking, are you okay? Like, right now, this moment. Are you doing okay?”

Shiro nods. “Right now this moment, I’m okay. Panic’s gone, anxiety’s mostly gone, and I’m kind of just tired.”

Matt nods, satisfied with the answer, then sits up, holding out his hands. “Okay, we’ve got like, half an hour until Keith gets here and we have to go eat. One more nap.”

“Trying to set a nap record?” Shiro asks playfully.

“You know it,” Matt agrees. He snags Shiro’s hands in his own, taking the time to undo the straps on Shiro’s prosthetic and place it somewhere out of the way on the floor before pulling Shiro down. Instead of sitting propped up on one another as they had been earlier, this time Matt gets Shiro to lie down on his side, his back pressed against the back of the couch. Matt sprawls in front of him, barely managing to stay on the couch at all.

“You’re going to fall.” Shiro chuckles, snaking his arm around Matt’s waist. He can’t see his face, but Matt makes a disinterested noise all the same.

After a few more seconds of shifting to get comfortable, Matt settles down. His head is tucked under Shiro’s chin. Both hands hold onto Shiro’s arm, still draped over his waist, as if he’s afraid Shiro might let go. Both of the blankets are tangled around them, warm but not too much.

Matt’s breaths grow slower and heavier, and Shiro’s eyes stay closed longer and longer between his blinks.

“Hey, Shiro?” Matt says, his voice thick and fuzzy.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for coming to check on me. I don’t think I said that yet.”

Shiro squeezes his hand. “Don’t mention it.”

“’Kay.” Matt goes quiet again, and then Shiro lets his eyes stay closed. The sounds of the Holt house fade away. He’s only vaguely aware of Matt’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest under Shiro’s arm, the warmth radiating from him.

And half an hour later, he’s only vaguely aware of Keith’s voice joining the background noises, blending in as seamlessly to them as if he’d always been there.

“…almost don’t want to wake them,” Sam is saying.

“I’m getting my phone.” Pidge’s voice. Shiro keeps his eyes shut and tries to block them out. “This can’t just be left undocumented.”

He’s almost dozed off again when he hears the sound of a camera shutter, and then he cracks one eyelid open. There’s Keith, motorcycle helmet under one arm, and Pidge with her phone in her hands. He fixes them with his best glare, but it just makes Pidge laugh and Keith snicker.

“Tell them to go ‘way,” Matt mutters, and then he rolls over and curls up against Shiro.

“Matt says go away,” Shiro says, his voice groggy, and then pulls the blanket over both of their heads.

The result is another burst of laughter, and then Colleen’s voice shushing them and shooing the crowd from the room.

Matt grumbles something unintelligible, then mutters loud enough for Shiro to catch, “Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes,” Shiro repeats, feeling a little more awake. “Then we gotta go eat.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Five minutes.” And then, holding onto Shiro’s hand, he dozes off again. Shiro lets himself drift too, even though everyone else is waiting for them in the kitchen, even though he’s normally the responsible and mature one, even though any other day, Shiro would never let himself be this lazy. But now he’s tired and warm and Matt is asleep holding his hand like a stuffed animal, and he’s perfectly content to stay like this forever.

Or at least, for just five more minutes.


End file.
